


black out in the sewer; crash into the sun

by falloutboiruto



Category: Naruto
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autofellatio, Crack, Dark Comedy, Dark Ending, Masturbation, Other, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut, Written as a joke, technically. i think this is snuff? but in a funny way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutboiruto/pseuds/falloutboiruto
Summary: Years after he faked his own death in the fight against Sasuke, Deidara finally has all he ever considered maybe settling for; a pottery shop with a mediocre sales revenue. But most importantly, he engages in high-stakes self care(hint hint, nudge nudge) that might blow up in his face.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	black out in the sewer; crash into the sun

**Author's Note:**

> please do not take this seriously, since it's literally the dumbest fic idea i've ever had. i am doing this for shits and giggles and nothing more
> 
> thanks to reaperduckling for enabling me!! ur the best  
> title inspired by "like a boss" by the lonely island

It had been years since Deidara faked his own death in his battle against Sasuke Uchiha. Being a terrorist bomber for a paycheck had been nice and all, but Deidara had not been about to die in a war when he, instead could just live on and create even more art. Sasuke had apparently joined Konohagakure’s forces in the end and that had somehow led to world peace. Whoop-dee-freaking-doo. Deidara’s life wouldn’t have made much difference either way. So, whatever. Logically speaking, this was clearly the superior outcome. 

Yet, when he was visited by rude customers at his pottery shop located in a town just big and nondescript enough for him to blend into the crowd, he wished that he really had gone out with a bang instead. It would’ve made for a masterpiece. Now, his only monetizable art were flower vases and mugs with custom name inscriptions. But some(most) customers couldn’t understand or appreciate genius of his caliber.

“10 000 ryo for that piece of crap mug? I could make a better one myself, for free!” One particularly entitled shop-visitor cried out. ”The handle looks weird, too!” 

“It’s abstract,” Deidara clenched his jaw and tried to not remember the thrill that came with exploding people. He had spent way too much money on his shop’s interior decorating to ruin this now. And not to the mention the endless community center lessons on small business-management he had attended for his dreams to come true! His sacrifices would’ve all been for nought if he went on a killing spree.

“Well, the handle is too square! It hurts my hand when I hold it!”

“ _Well,_ ” Deidara got up right up in the customer(a woman that he unfortunately had dealt with enough to know that she was named Karen)’s face and tried his utmost to stare a hole into her soul. “Maybe, just maybe, you just have weird hands. I can hold my own mugs just fine, hm?”

Karen huffed and puffed. Her breath and stray drops of spit rained hot against his face. Which was gross, but she eventually flounced towards the door. Right in the doorway, she turned back and; “You’re the one with weird hands! They have mouths in them! That’s weird!”

“You’re just jealous,” Deidara stated. His mouth-hands were his best feature. Everyone knew that. Karen screeched a high, self-pitying note and stormed away. Which only confirmed his theory. The cheery tune of the doorbell went off as the door slammed shut. Good riddance.

He breathed in, and out. And in. No point in exploding people anymore. It had been so long since the last time that he had most likely lost the art of fine-tuning his explosions for ultimate control. If he blew up Karen, the whole town could go down with her. Not that they(especially Karen) didn’t deserve it. But he had worked hard for this pottery shop. No point in having it if there wasn’t a nearby customer base.

-

The second floor of Deidara’s shop was his apartment, or whatever. It wasn’t fancy. But at least he had indoor plumbing. After a long, hard day of trying to sell his fine art that very few appreciated, he took a hot shower to unwind. And if his hands found places of his body that would help him unwind even more, well, that wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t it?.

His long hair spread out like a fan over his pillow as he laid down in his bed. His hand kissed a slow wet-hot trail down his chest to finally sink down on his dick. He was so caught up in the moment that he almost didn’t recognize the moans and whines falling out of his mouth as his own. Soon enough, thrusting his hips into his hand found its own rhythm. It was hard to find a singular sensation to focus on. From the constant pressure of the bedsheets underneath him, to the up-and-down squelch of his hand from having his dick inside it, to the warm coil in his lower stomach, to the tight heat around his dick, to the floaty sensation overpowering him-

For a moment, everything fell silent and still even as he shook with anticipation.

Then, all the sensations synchronized and a deafeningly loud booming ungodly noise, like music to his ears, rang out. As though something greater than the entire universe was being pulled out from the base of his dick. It was like fireworks all over the night sky, this; this was the true definition of _art._ Everything expanded and imploded at once. He disintegrated at a molecular level-

And then darkness, and nothing more.

-

In the middle of the night, the whole village awoke by the loud explosion that completely destroyed the pottery shop. After grumbling and complaining about ‘some of us have work in the morning’ en masse, they realized just how severe the consequences were. The shopkeeper, the artist-formerly-known-as-Deidara was never seen again alive. No-one found out the real circumstances behind his disappearance, but since his shop/house had been obliterated in a devastating explosion the common assumption was that he had died the same way.

However, some townsfolk whispered under their breaths of a different story, one where Beidara(Deidara’s post!fake-death alter ego) had somehow survived and actually blown up his house for insurance fraud purposes. Realistically speaking, his pottery shop hadn’t really had high-enough sales to stay afloat, the rumor expanded. Perhaps he had really needed that money. It would make sense, and it was a nicer alternative than him dying in a freak accident, that’s for sure. Thus, people came to their own conclusions, and were all the merrier for it.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> title on google docs: doesn't matter had sex


End file.
